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Once, there were hardwood floors in stores
even in the sixties
Bare of finish, and very real
Texture of life
Sound of footsteps that show we're here
In tiny stores run by Mom and Pop
like something from the Old West
or the Old East
and in modern streamlined outlets
run by nameless executives of something soon to be K-Mart
The seventies happened
The weak and cowardly
riding in their motorised walkers
armoured and armed
avoiding personal responsibility and personal Death
make a new rule on the spot
ignoring fifty years without a flame
overhead sprinkler systems
and the Firehouse Two blocks away
filled with experts at stopping fire
Everything must be metal and glass
including more and more rules that cage life and freedom
And yet despite cages
and all of their armour
despite all their padded
anniversaryShadow slides back with sunrise
the text is revealed
That one day of the year
when sun penetrates the chamber and
lights wisdom from the side
to bring it to the seeming of relief
The god in bedrock smiles
The fools have returned
Ten thousand times
Lancelot Price 2013 November 26
Cows, Part OneThe cows lie down on grass and poo
[you know it's there]
Chewing quietly, slowly
each one with a piece of me
digesting my substance
Soon I will again be poo
to grow the grass and feed the cows
the masters of our Universe
Lancelot Price 2013 November 26
kitchen tableback home again
another afternoon breakfast
the bar last night was packed
and I brought back a stranger
who gave what I went for
but it wasn't enough
It never is
the kitchen table is covered
in cigarette ash and songdust
Lancelot Price 2013 November 22
I attended a performance of J. S. Bach's Brandenburg Concertos on Tuesday night. It was appalling. I knew that it was theoretically possible to sit down in a chair and still play the double-bass viol, but to lie down on stage whilst doing it? The horror. But that was not enough to entirely drive me away, as after all, I had paid for the ticket myself. Somewhat later, during Concerto No.5, I believe [in D, BWV 1050], the Harpy Chord quilled the violins to death: tree sap and varnish chips everywhere on the stage. That made the double-bass player stand up right enough! Johann would have been proud. The flautist fled and so did I. I didn't see what the cellist did, but at least she had a chair to sit in and remain mostly above the carnage.
An exciting but musically unrewarding evening. On reflection, it may still have been worth the cost of admission.
Lancelot Price 2013 November 21
flying sharksflying sharks race over China
searching for Shang Hai
birds have fled away before them
evading eager jaws
and telling tales of friends they've lost
to anyone who'll hear
There are so few who listen
or note the beauty of the tale
Lost indeed are those who flew
Lancelot Price 2013 November 20
chancethe chance at last
a rainy day on lake's grey water
there'll be no one sailing but us
left by the lazy and weak of spirit
for fireplaces and cozy chairs
and reading lights
only the truly alive and willing
lightly clad but afire with joy
could find this day of quiet beauty
disguised in cool and wet
a place of opportunity
Lancelot Price 2013 N0vember 15
Things passed.Things passed.
I used to live somewhere else. Back there we had true autumn. On a foggy fall morning, just ahead of me in the mist, I could see Christmas, that time divine for its softly decorated trees and beautifully wrapped presents, quite ungarish. For some years, all was well, but then we moved South and Fall and Christmas were gone.
It was still winter when we moved in early January, so at first I didn't notice, I just thought that spring had come three months early. Everything was so different from the old place that I was completely caught up in adjusting to it all, and enjoying the new things and ways, but when September had gone by, and then October, and everything was still warm and bright, I began to notice that things were different here.
"The rules are different here." That's what they liked to say, those people who had lived here for more than my few months of habitation. Then November passed. And December. And still the sun was bright. It was then I r
country daycountry day
Bush blown in the wind
Waved its arm
a symphony of air
In a bog nearby
irises bowed and glowed
and on the hillside
grapes grew round
On the valley road
seen through the vines
a tourist bus
headed back to town
in spring and summer sun
Lancelot Price 2013 November 2
BeautyI'd rather wear flowers in my hair,
forming a delicate chain
Than diamonds around my neck,
covering my tender blue veins
For with every precious petal
and every lucent leaf
I'm a living lesson
teaching beauty can not be bought
But rather it grows and flourishes
with every living thought
Expensive LiesI sit and stare at the toilet bowl.
A guy I know is bulimic.
When we compliment him
I see the twist of agony in his eyes
as his brain reprograms it
to sound like an expensive lie
that costs him another tear
in his tattered dignity.
Friends hurry to him,
to reassure him, to love him.
They tell him how beautiful he is.
We didn't know him before,
but he's definitely not fat now.
We whisper things in concern like;
body dysmorphic disorder.
'I know you'll never believe me
but you are so gorgeous -
not just on the inside.' Not just.
And they're right, I join in,
because they are right to say it
because it happens to be true -
he is stunning. Not just on the outside.
And we want him to see himself
the way we see him, beautiful.
And I join in because
I've felt that strangle of pain
in my stomach, bowels and belly,
when someone used to tell me lies.
So I know how he feels.
Only, he is beautiful on the outside
and I'm not.
He's not seeing reality in the mirror
and I am.
And people rush to correc
Fearing MeI'm not afraid to cry
and I do it
a lot more than you would guess.
It isn't always sadness,
I just feel like I need to,
feel everything so strongly
that it's the only way
to let go for a moment
because if I hold on for too long,
if my grip gets too tight
I'll break myself,
I will break you like glass
and we will both
I am a good guy
who hasn't yet found a way
to show it,
I am a good guy
who still identifies with the villains,
hides everything important
anything to throw you
off of my trail....
and I don't know why,
but I am trying.
Maybe I think
that if you could see me,
the real me,
you wouldn't want to look anymore,
want to be anywhere near me,
and the idea
that I can't add up
to be enough for you,
to be enough for me,
is so fucking heart breaking
I can hardly fathom it.
I can't say that it doesn't hurt
because it does,
it hurts a whole hell of a lot,
I've come to depend on pain,
to befriend misery
you're just a question marki met you so long ago
but back then our bodies were made of metal
and nowadays they’re made of the blades of
grass and dirt settling
underneath my fingernails.
my fingers are having a hard time
reaching the keys and
my organs are shaking mostly because i haven’t
eaten in two days but also
because i’m worried about the things you're doing to yourself.
we didn’t meet very long ago at all but it feels like forever ago
and you say you don’t know me
that you don’t know anyone
but baby you're turning into a skeleton and i’m peeling back my skin
to try and reach my bones, just like you.
i hope you're happy,
i’m covering the hard wood floors now
the bits and pieces splattered.
they are calling it a suicide but i’m calling it
a way to see my brain and
just how dark it has become, and honestly
i don’t want you to try and see about your’s.
i’m mourning the loss of my heart and wish you weren’t either -
A Kiss not Forgotten (a special tribute)Like a frost spread across valleys silent and dreary,
ever my longing lost in shimmers of shadow & wind
And days bled into years, the seas became deserts
But thoughts of thee would not perish
Thru memories untamed I staggered far and long;
upon solemn nights lit by the torch of your soul
O’ how deep I miss your fragrant cheer ..
Of warm evenings shared across Lake’s reverie,
watching horizons journey into Autumn’s dream
— wherest our hearts once bloomed a fabled sky
Those passions shared will forsake me not
Lest the Moon would bestow solace upon my ache:
I will lay marooned, haunted by thy seraphic-figure,
Or the ever fleeting caress of your gaze ...
So my soul shall yield to this mythic abyss; –
as I peer from my carriage to Nirvana
And thou away, from my arms, the Sun weeps
Unto eternity—my dear beloved, we are entwined
Forever our footprints cast in golden firmament
A kiss not forgotten in a ballet of light softly falling
I now bear the want
Black hole BulimicThe Composition:
I birth poems — not amaranths
in graveyards — not gardens.
sows seeds of doubt
into skeleton weeds.
A farmer plucks the bones
from Apollo's hyacinth; his
I binge on broken
cracked collectors of rocks,
of pebbles kidnapped
from barren beaches:
where crooked kings
buried in books whose
pages creak to crickets
in an abandoned abyss
of an attic—caskets on
an antiquated shelf. I
choke on the dust and
twitch in recoil.
The bickering sky
A cloud coughs—
The clock's scythe hand
swivels to the beckoning
twelve. Spastic ticking—
each bleak stroke
of a midnight heart.
The sundials do not work
now. The vampires know
I kill poems—
obligation steam machineas always
grinding the cankerous
of your cognition
until the lack of compassion
leaves you unlubricated
seized frozen bound stuck
only then the machine of
your fears will burst to steam
squealing to suckle
at the genius of my
the unsung soiled hero
of middle-class ferocity
savior of the undeserving
winding slowly deftly dying
martyr to the self-justified cause
as love for summer fades.late morning-
there's the tease of
snow in the clouds,
in the air, and the trees
have finally lost their
the sunlight is damp.
alters the room
as it graces my skin,
and for once
i don't wake up right away.
instead i lay
between my memory bitten
sheets, and i think
about all the times he said
that he hated winter.
i don't remember
when i began to love it,
and i don't care.
nothing can shatter that.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More